


Preview

by Fandoms_Are_Life37



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fanfiction, M/M, Preview, Still taking Betas, Teasers & Trailers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24634228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandoms_Are_Life37/pseuds/Fandoms_Are_Life37
Summary: NO LONGER ACCEPTING BETA READERS!But stay tuned for when this is fully posted ;)Note: This book is now published!
Relationships: America & England (Hetalia), America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 8





	1. Shoot Him

**Author's Note:**

> England is facing America on the battlefield with his former colony at his mercy, but he struggles to find the stamina needed to kill him.
> 
> Word count: 411
> 
> Estimated read time: 2 minutes
> 
> Warnings: Angst, language, mentions of violence

"Loving, of enemies is another dogma of feigned morality and has besides no meaning. It is incumbent on man, as a moralist, that he does not revenge an injury; and it is equally as good in a political sense, for there is no end to retaliation; each retaliates on the other, and calls it justice: but to love in proportion to the injury, if it could be done, would be to offer a premium for a crime." -Thomas Paine

The rain was heavy and the sky was dark as the cracks of thunder and gunshots alike rang out across the battlefield.

Arthur's hands trembled as he tightened his grip upon the gun. "Stop this, America. Stop it now!"

Alfred glared up at him with a hatred in his eyes that Arthur had never seen before. "No. I will fight. I will fight and I will fight and I will fight until I win. I will fight in the name of liberty."

"But I need you. I need you to stay."

"And I need my freedom!" Alfred seethed.

"Shoot him." Arthur's mind commanded. "This is war- shoot him."

He grit his teeth, tears pouring down his cheeks and mixing with the rainwater. "Don't leave me!"

"Give me one good fucking reason to stay!"

"I... I love you!"

"I don't care. You weren't there when I needed you. You hurt me and you did it on purpose."

Arthur felt like he couldn't breathe. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't good enough. You never cared about me. All I was was your stupid colony that actually believed you loved me. But that wasn't true. I was just there for you to use."

"No, you weren't! America, you're everything to me."

"Oh, come now. Let's stop lying to ourselves."

Shoot him.

"Please... can we just go home? I- I just want to go home," Arthur choked out.

"No."

Shoot him.

"Go on, England. Do it. Kill me. Prove to France that you're strong since that's all you've ever cared about. Prove that traitors always die. Come on, prove the might of the British empire."

Shoot him.

"N- No! Just surrender!"

"You know I can't do that."

Shoot him.

"Don't make me do this."

Shoot him.

"I won't give up until my people are free."

SHOOT HIM!

Arthur's whole body shook as he cried. Everything he was was there in the storm, the gun, the blood, and Alfred's burning blue eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."


	2. Enemy Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred sneaks into the British camp late at night, desperate to see Arthur again. Once there, they share an exchange that Washington and Cornwallis likely wouldn't approve of during wartime...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 2,038
> 
> Estimated read time: 11 minutes
> 
> Warnings: Strong language, implied sexual content
> 
> If you want the full smut, I've got that posted separately. It's got the same title but the smut isn't in my fanfic.

Alfred paced the length of his tent. It was really getting to him- not having Arthur around. Without him there to correct his grammar and scold him for leaving his shoes in the doorway, it was easy to forget about all the reasons living with him was so difficult and become enraptured with him all over again.

For days, all he'd been seeing were green eyes, soft blond hair, and his smile in everything. It was driving him crazy.

His pacing gained speed. He wanted Arthur- no, he needed Arthur.

But Arthur wasn't there.

His pacing stopped and he made a decision.

It was almost like he was in a daze as he pulled on his coat and crept out of the camp. It was almost like he wasn't in control of himself when he mounted a horse and took off toward the nearby British camp. And it was almost like he had lost his mind when he tied his horse to a tree, slipped past the sentinels, and searched the British camp for Arthur's tent.

Finding it wasn't hard. It was one of the nicest and largest ones with a guard stationed outside and Arthur's spare pair of boots in the grass beside the doorway.

He approached the tent boldly. The only soldiers out were huddled around a fire further away, far enough that the light couldn't reach him, aside from one outside the general's tent on the other side of the camp and the one guarding Arthur.

When he saw his outline, the soldier raised his musket. "Oy, you! Show yourself!"

Alfred was too far for the soldier to identify the color of his coat in the darkness. With a flawless impersonation of a British accent, he faked confusion. "What're you going on about?"

He lowered his gun. "No one's allowed this close to Mr. Kirkland's tent. You know the rules. Go back to the fire with the others."

"I want to speak with Mr. Kirkland, if you don't mind," Alfred replied. "It's about one of the horses."

"Go talk to a stableboy. They're in charge of them."

Alfred scoffed and drew on his repertoire of British words he had once used before his own culture developed. "As if those blokes have the foggiest idea what they're doing. Please? It's important."

"Sorry, no can do."

Guess they were doing this the hard way.

Alfred marched up and pushed past the soldier into the tent.

Arthur was there, writing something down at a desk. He looked up, startled, as the soldier came in after Alfred.

"I'm sorry, sir, I tried to-"

"It's alright. Leave us."

The soldier looked between them uneasily, especially now that he could see the color of Alfred's coat, but nodded, stepping back out and assuming Alfred was a spy coming back to report. The tent's flap fell shut, leaving them alone.

Arthur got up apprehensively. "America... what are you doing here?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he strode forward to seize Arthur by the chin and hip, jerking him forward and slamming their lips together.

Arthur, shocked, didn't respond at first. His hands were still at his sides, tense and unsure until he began kissing back with even more intensity and his fingers found their way into Alfred's hair, gently tugging near the nape of his neck- just the way Alfred liked.

They broke for breath and Alfred began kissing down his neck. Arthur. "I- I don't understand. Why are you here and- ah!"

He was cut off when Alfred bit down, not hard enough to perforate the skin but enough to hurt. That was more than alright with Arthur, though, and he gasped, a shiver running down his spine. His grip on Alfred's hair tightened as he leaned into him, unable to resist his touch.

Alfred continued his work as his hands slid down to the buttons of Arthur's coat, undoing them as quickly as he could until he could throw it to the floor and lift Arthur up, setting him on the desk and yanking him close as he began working on Arthur's shirt.

"America, w- we're at war," Arthur said.

Alfred finally got Arthur's shirt off but paused at the statement. "So?"

For a moment, nothing happened.

"Fuck it," Arthur decided, taking Alfred's collar to drag him back into a kiss and beginning to undo the blue coat's buttons.

Alfred wiggled out of it once Arthur had gotten the last button unclasped and started to drift from his neck to his collarbone, nipping as he went and leaving marks along his otherwise smooth, unblemished skin.

Arthur tried to switch their positions, but Alfred caught his wrists, gripping and exerting his extra strength. "Not tonight, England."

He raised his brows in surprise. "You're going to...?"

Alfred nodded and shoved him down on the desk. Arthur hit the wood forcefully. There was a dull throbbing in his skull from where it connected, but how could he possibly notice it when Alfred had pulled him to the edge of the desk by the hips and leaned over him, taking off his own shirt without ceasing his descent down Arthur's chest?

Arthur almost told Alfred that he was topping and that there was no way in hell he'd let Alfred take control. He was the British Empire, after all, and outside this tent, he would dominate Alfred on the battlefield. Why should inside be any different? It almost felt like surrendering to let him press him down into the desk, which he most certainly was not going to do.

But when Alfred ran his hands down Arthur's sides, fingers skimming over his ribs, he couldn't help but gasp sharply and give in.


	3. I Hope You're Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After America leaves him, Arthur destroys everything that reminds him of his former lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 676
> 
> Read time: 3 minutes
> 
> Warnings: Strong Language, Sad Content

Arthur stared numbly at his house. Everywhere was Alfred. In the paintings, in scratches left on trim from him bumping things into them, in the countless dessert recipes stacked in the cabinets, in his chair at the kitchen table, in his spot on the couch, in his side of the bed...

Emotion was swelling inside of him like a hurricane as his eyes flickered over each mark that Alfred had left on his home.

No. Not anymore. If Alfred wanted to be his own country, if he wanted to be 'independent,' if he wanted to leave, then he didn't deserve to have a place in Arthur's house.

Arthur's hands shook as he picked up one of the sketches in a picture frame that Feliciano had drawn for them and looked down at it. In the art, Alfred was hugging Arthur from behind. They each had wide smiles and shining eyes that Feliciano had somehow captured between pencil strokes. It used to make Arthur smile every time he saw it.

Now, he took it and chucked it at the wall, letting it crack and the picture fall to the ground. He dashed to their room, pulling Alfred's favorite blanket off and throwing it down the stairs. His eyes teared up as he collected the books, papers, doodles, and other belongings of his in his arms and threw them down, too.

Gingerly, he lifted a glass heart paperweight that Alfred had given him for his birthday. Abruptly, he hurled it at the wall, too, letting it shatter on the floor.

He threw open the closet door, dragging out all the clothes of Alfred's to throw down the stairs into a heap.

Charging down there, he scooped everything up and hurled it out the door onto the dark, empty, lonely London streets. One of their pictures landed in a puddle, quickly absorbing water and smudging their faces beyond recognition.

Arthur stormed into the kitchen, collecting recipes, Alfred's mug, and the grease he used to make bacon, before throwing them out the door. They tumbled out after the other items, which would be taken outside of town by the street sweepers to be burned just before the sun rose.

Tears were falling freely now as he swept his arm over the mantle, knocking all the framed images to the ground with a cry of rage.

"Fine! Fine, fine, fine!" Arthur screamed, not caring if he bothered the neighbors. "Fuck you, America! Fuck you- and fuck France!"

Stinging hatred flooded him, taking over his actions as he smashed more frames, not even noticing when the glass sliced through his skin. Rushing back upstairs, he yanked open his nightstand, pulling out the box full of every letter that they'd ever sent each other.

Arthur ran downstairs, pulling one out and ripping it in two. He tore through the box, crying and shredding the physical remnants of their love.

His eyes went to the painting that hung over the fireplace, the one that showed them walking together down the street, the one that had always been his favorite.

He pulled it off the wall, sobbing, and chucked it into the fire, letting the flames burn away their interlocked fingers.

"I hope you're happy, America!" He shouted through choked sobs as if Alfred could hear him, "I don't need you! Do you hear me? I don't need you- or anybody else!"

Arthur's knees gave out and he crumpled to the floor, shaking and clutching himself for dear life. He was so angry. So, so angry- more than he had been in his entire life. But it wasn't the cold anger that he had toward his enemies. This was hot- burning hot. It was searing his insides and bursting through him uncontrollably like a wildfire.

"I hate you..." His voice cracked and he found himself unable to scream anymore. His eyes shut in a feeble effort to block out the destruction, his tears, and the blood on his hands and arms.

Around him, the house was covered in glass shards, tattered paper, and heartbreak.


	4. France

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-battle triumph, America and France get together. When his spy reports back, England isn't enthused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 1,051
> 
> Estimated read time: 5 minutes 30 seconds
> 
> This is kind of FrUs, too, but I swear the fic is UsUk/UkUs. That's the primary ship and the whole story revolves around that. FrUs is there for the plot, history, feels, and jealousy.

"I can hardly believe it," Alfred said aloud, more to himself than to Francis. "I think we have a real shot at winning."

Francis smiled. "Of course we do."

"I don't want to think about what will happen if we don't."

"Then don't think about that." Francis uncrossed his legs and set his cup down on the table so that he could fully focus on Alfred. "Think about something else. Think about the day we win. Because we will. Win, that is."

He nodded, also setting down his drink. "I can't thank you enough for helping me, France. Without you, I wouldn't have a shot."

"I'm always happy to help you. I'm just sorry it couldn't be sooner. I mean, I sent the Marquis over last year, but overall, I still feel guilty. You know I didn't want to postpone an alliance."

"Don't be sorry. You're here now, and that's what matters," Alfred told him earnestly. "You've given me hope, above all. And I'm eternally grateful for that."

Francis smiled, but there was a touch of melancholy in it. "You're welcome."

They fell silent for a moment as Alfred took another swig from his drink.

"I wish I were here sooner. Not just to help with the war, but to be with you," Francis confessed quietly.

Alfred paused. "What do you mean?"

"That you're important to me and I'm glad that we're together."

He set his drink down, scooting a bit closer. "I'm glad we're together, too."

Francis' eyes flickered across Alfred's face, stopping on his lips before meeting his gaze. "Amerique?"

The question was clear. Alfred's voice came out quiet, almost a whisper. "Yes."

Slowly, Francis leaned in, breath warm before his lips brushed Alfred's and connected gently as they tested the waters. Alfred shifted to be even closer and smiled into the kiss when he felt Francis' fingers take his and intwine them.

Pulling back and touching foreheads, blue eyes meeting blue, Francis couldn't hold back a smile. "I've wanted to do that for a while now."

Alfred kissed him once again in response, giving his hand a squeeze and sinking deeper into him.

***

Arthur wasn't expecting much when his spies came back. They weren't as skilled as he had hoped and hiring new ones was on his to-do list.

There was one spy that he always waited on to return. A spy he had specifically assigned to keep a close eye on Alfred. The things he came back with tended to be meaningless, but Arthur was comforted by trivial updates: Alfred had gotten a new book, Alfred had burned his dinner, Alfred had fallen asleep while working, and so on. He could imagine each happening and it made him feel less disconnected from him.

That night, when his special spy returned, he said he had news. Normally, he would apologize for not knowing much useful information and Arthur would have to assure him that he always awaited his check-ins eagerly.

"I have information that may be relevant, sir."

Arthur leaned against his desk, examining the loyalist in a blue coat. "Information?"

"Yes. A weakness."

Well, Arthur already knew most of those. Alfred was scared of being alone, Ellis, Matthew dying, losing the war, being the cause of his mother's death, and, he suspected, losing Arthur. But he supposed that he had already lost that.

"What kind of weakness?"

"One of your fellow nations, sir. France."

He wanted to laugh out loud. Sure, Alfred had allied with Francis and they were friends, but he could hardly imagine Francis being a way to get to Alfred. "Why would France be a weakness for America?"

"Their relationship has evolved from friendship to, well, more."

Arthur's stomach dropped. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I saw them last night, sir, around ten pm. They are lovers now."

He felt like some kind of weight was pressing in on him, cracking his ribs and forcing the air from his lungs. "But it's just sex- isn't it? America is only with him to blow off steam, right?"

The spy shifted nervously. "Erm, perhaps. But it didn't appear that way I saw them kiss. On America's couch. They were there for a long time, but went to sleep together without... engaging in any sexual activities."

It drove Arthur mad with jealousy and rage to think of Francis with his lips on Alfred's or his hands on Alfred's skin or his eyes being allowed to see every inch of his Alfred. And to think of Alfred breathing heavily, gasping and coming undone for Francis, of all people- it was sickening.

But worse was the idea of Alfred sleeping softly beside him, kissing him in the mornings, telling him he loved him, holding his hand, and being in his arms while reading a book or letter, smiling in contentment. Because if it was just sex, this was fixable. If it was just sex, that only meant that he had pent up energy since leaving Arthur that he needed an outlet for- any outlet.

Arthur wasn't sure it was fixable if Alfred cared about Francis the way he once cared about him. That would mean that he was moving on and it wasn't just about finding someone for a good fuck. It was about more.

"We have to win this war," Arthur said quietly, torn between the urge to punch something and the urge to cry. He couldn't give Francis time to make Alfred fall for him. No, that just wasn't a possibility. To truly and completely lose Alfred- it would kill him.

"Would you like me to return to my post now, sir?" The spy asked.

"Yes."

"And would you still like to be kept informed about America?"  
"Yes."

"Should I let you know what happens between him and France, or shall I omit that from my reports from here on?"

He didn't want to know. The last thing he wanted was to hear anything about Alfred and Francis. At the same time, he needed to know. How could he not? If he wasn't told what happened, that would mean he'd be constantly wondering, fearing the worst without cause.

"Yes."

The spy nodded, giving a curt bow, before exiting the tent, leaving Arthur to sink down onto his bed, eyes filling with tears and hatred.

For this, he'd kill Francis.


	5. Book Trailer!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the trailer I made for the book!

Title and cover reveal in video!

If you want to go watch it, it's on YouTube. It's called Thirteen Stars Book Trailer and my username is just Hetalian. I tried to link it, but for the life of me, I couldn't.


	6. Published

Thirteen Stars has officially been published, everyone! I'm still working on updating and getting the rest of it out there as of today (December 18th 2020) but I'm going as fast as I can. I hope you guys like it!


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